Surviving a Curse
by harrylee94
Summary: Following your instincts is key to survival. But so is learning how to trust the right people, and keeping your eyes open. This is a 'what if' story of what would have happened had Sheriff Graham followed these rules in the episode 'The Heart is a Lonely Huntsman', and the consequences that follow. Graham/Emma (Gremma) Spoilers for 1x07 onwards


**AN - Before I start, I would have to say that this is the LONGEST chapter I have EVER written! It took me _forever_ to write, so, if I ever do get around to writing another chapter, it won't be for a long while. Also, I would like to say that, to my great sorrow, I do not own Once Upon A Time or any of its characters... which unfortunately includes Sheriff Graham, Jefferson and August W. Booth... #sob#**

* * *

**Chapter One - The Heart is a Lonely Hunter**

The deer stood in the centre of a forest paradise, its body posed in a state of awareness, staring straight out at him through the leaves and foliage. It was a peaceful and serine scene… until a dart embedded itself in its chest, just above its heart.

Graham could feel the stares he was receiving from a certain newspaper reporter from behind him as he hit the creature again with yet another deadly shot, the small projectile sticking out of the dart board.

It was business as usual in Granny's, but everything felt _different_. It was as if the world had been turned upside-down, and the ground had been pulled out from under his feet. He was questioning everything now. Even the things he'd thought had been the pillars of his very existence.

For some reason, darts always seemed to calm him down. Mixed with alcohol though, it was sure to be a recipe for disaster. Sooner or later, anyway.

"Nice shot chief," came the snide voice of one Sidney Glass, forcing him to turn to face him, "I bet you twenty bucks you can't do it again."

Downing another shot of whiskey Ruby had offered him, he gave the reporter a glare. He had never liked the man. There was something about him that had always given him cold shivers up his spine, and wiping that self-satisfied smirk off his face was something he would be all to glad to do.

Turning back to face the board, he chose his target.

The dart embedded itself in the centre of the deer's nose with a satisfying _thump_.

Turning to face the waitress after sparing the man a small glance, he nodded to his opponent. "Next round's on him."

Pulling out another dart from the pocket of his waistcoat, Graham turned back to the board again, making ready to throw when Emma walked out of bathroom, pausing briefly when she noticed him. Letting his arm drop, she returned her glare.

"Emma!" Ruby exclaimed as she started to move around him, "What can I get you?"

The way she looks at him as she moves to pass him makes him feel the guilt he had been trying so hard to forget, the brief glance awakening that horrible crushing feeling in his chest.

"Nothing," she says as she scoots past him, leaving him in his shame.

No. She was _not_ going to ignore him any longer!

Letting the anger get the better of him, Graham threw his dart into the door frame, right next to his deputy's face.

Silence fell in the dinner as the blonde haired woman turned to face him, a fire in her eyes that made them glow. "What the hell? You could have hit me!"

He raised his arms slightly in a shrug as he began to make his way towards her, his steps slow and far between. "I never miss." Watching her as she folded her arms, he knew that action wouldn't be easily forgiven. But he was _far_ from stable minded. "You been avoiding me? Since you saw me last night when you saw me-"

"Leaving the Mayor?" she interrupted as he finally closed the distance between them, "And yes, that is a euphemism. I'm not avoiding you Graham, I just have _no_ interest in having this conversation. It's your life, and I really don't care."

The fact that she left straight after she said that said otherwise.

Following her out the door, the Sheriff followed her down the street, the lights' glare reflecting off of the wet tarmac. "If you don't care then why are you so upset?"

"I'm not upset!" she replied, though _far_ from convincingly.

Running in front of her, he tried to stop her in her tracks. "If that were true then you'd be at the bar with me having a drink and not running away."

Sidestepping out of the way, Emma gave him an exasperated look. "It's none of my business. Really."

"Look, can we please talk about this? I need you to understand."

"Why?" she asked, stopping outside of the Indian restaurant.

"I don't know!..." He struggled to find the right words for a moment, his brain searching his scrambled thoughts for that semblance of soberness. "Maybe so… I can understand."

She scoffed. "If you need analysis, go talk to Archie."

"I want to talk to you."

"Well your bad judgement is your problem, not mine."

Moving back down the road again, Emma left him standing there for a moment before he made a dash to catch up.

"You don't know what it's like with her!" he tried to explain, though she didn't show any sign of slowing, "I don't _feel_ anything! Can you understand that?"

"Bad relationship, yeah! I understand a bad relationship, I just don't want to talk about yours."

"Look, I know you and Regina have your own issues," he said, resting his hand on her arm briefly, "and-and I should have told you about that _before_ you took the job-"

"Yeah, why the secrecy?" she asked, stopping in her tracks. It was a fair enough question, and one he knew he should answer, but… "We're all adults. You can do whatever you want."

"Because I…" Why was it? Why did he _really_ have to keep this a secret? She wanted to know? Then he'd tell her. It would be up to her to believe him though. "I didn't want you to look at me the way you are now."

"What do you care about how I look at you?"

She really didn't understand, did she. Had she really missed it? The way he had been looking at her these past few weeks, the smiles he's sent her way? Was she truly _blind_?

"Because…"

There was only one way he was going to be able to show her. Even if she denied him, she had to know.

Staring at him expectantly, Emma's eyes filled with confusion. "What?"

Stepping into her personal space, Graham held her soft, perfect face and captured her lips with his and…

_He could see a forest. A great expanse of trees and greenery as far as the eye could see. He could smell the moist bark and twigs that bent under his feet, the sap of the evergreens and the dry mud that was kicked up in clouds._

_He could feel the warmth of the sun on his face and the chill of the morning air. The somehow familiar weight of firs and weapons on his back._

_He could hear the growl of a wolf… And then he saw it. A white-grey wolf emerging from the undergrowth, its teeth sharp and its paws silent. It stared at him with its inescapable eyes; one as red as blood, the other as black as midnight._

Emma pulled herself away from him, and reality hit him like a wave. "What the hell was that?"

He could still _feel_ it lingering in his mind, and he looked around in confusion, trying to figure out what he had seen. "Did you see that?"

"How much have you been drinking?" Emma replied. No. She hadn't. "That was _way_ over the _line_!"

"I'm sorry, I just…"

"What? You what?"

That look in her eyes… it brought that feeling of guilt flooding back. It was overwhelming and it felt as though he would collapse under its weight. Why couldn't she just understand? "I need to feel something."

"Listen Graham, you are drunk and full of regret, I get it. But whatever it is you are looking to feel I can tell you one thing; you are _not_ getting it with me."

The Sheriff watched as she walked away, knowing that, no matter what she thought, she could never 'get it'. She did _not_ understand how he felt, and he wished she never would, but he knew he had hurt her in some way, and so he just let her walk away.

* * *

Regina heard a frantic, almost desperate knock at her front door, and knew almost immediately who it would be standing on her porch. There was only one person who ever called at this late hour. Putting her book down on the bedside table, she made her way down the stairs, turning the lights on as she went.

As she opened the white painted door, she feigned surprise. "Graham!"

"Is Henry asleep?" he asked, his voice quiet, as though afraid.

She frowned. He didn't start these things. It was always _her_. What had caused him to change? "Yes. Why?"

Suddenly, his lips were on hers, and she was being pushed back into the hallway. She could feel the desperation and need in his movements, taste the liquor on his tongue, and she pushed him back briefly to look at him.

In that moment, she knew. Miss Swan. She had hurt him in some way. She had hurt _her_ Graham, _her_ Huntsman, and she would make her pay.

As the door closed, and their lips met once again, she remembered how it was he came to be wrapped around her finger.

* * *

Queen Regina watched as a black clad figure made her way over to the rose covered grave, the body of her late husband lying inside. The white marble of the stone monument was a stark contrast to the black granite of the floor, and the rose petals looked as though it was covered in flecks of blood.

As she made her way down the stairs from the balcony, she watched as her step-daughter placed one white rose atop the petals, tears flowing freely from her eyes.

"Goodbye Father," she said, her voice heavy from mourning.

Reaching out, the Queen touched her shoulder, causing her to turn in fright, but as the child's eyes landed on her, the sorrow returned.

"I'm so sorry, Snow," Regina said, holding the girl's hands.  
"I loved him so much," Snow sniffed before pulling herself into the woman's embrace.

Rubbing her back and rocking her from side to side, Regina rested her chin against Snow's shoulder. "So did I, dear. So did I." Pulling back, the Princess held onto her hands once again, looking down at them before looking at her face. "The loss I feel for my husband must be nothing compared to the loss you feel for your father. If there is anything I could do, please let me know. I may only be your mother through marriage, but I'm here for you, dear." Regina let a tear fall down her cheek, watching as her 'daughter' cried. "Truly, and forever.

Snow's figure relaxed considerably, her form becoming more trusting and open as she embraced her step-mother once more.

* * *

Walking along the brightly lit halls of her castle, the Queen dismissed her guards as she entered her own private chambers, a small smirk on her lips.

"Congratulations," said the mirror, the face of a bearded man forming in its clouded image, "Your revenge is almost complete."

She let her grin shine as she looked at it. "One down, one to go."

Moving over to her dressing table, she watched as the face appeared in the small looking glass next to the main mirror, only one tenth of its size. "She has no idea, does she," it stated, not needing to ask.

"That I'm responsible for his passing?" Taking the seat, she looked herself in the eye before continuing. "She sought comfort with me. Sickening." Turning her attention to the looking glass, she sneered. "I could have ended her miserable existence right there. Believe me it was tempting."

"It would have sated your soul," it replied, and she knew it to be right. But she also knew something else. Something that would mean all her plans would have been for nothing had she given in.

"The kingdom's still loyal to her. They would turn on me. They don't know the wretchedness inside her as I do." Suppressing painful memories, she paused. "They don't know what she did to me. We must be delicate with this next phase. Her demise must be handled with care."

Pushing herself back to her feet, the Queen began to walk back out of the room, when the man trapped in the mirror stopped her.

"Perhaps one of your knights, your majesty," it suggested.

A knight? Did this being lose all of its mind when it became what it was? These knights had been loyal to her now… silenced, husband, and therefore loyal to his daughter. They would be of no use. "No. I need someone adept at murder. Bereft of mercy."

"Someone with no heart."

Ah. So maybe it _did_ have some semblance of a brain left. "Now you understand."

"Well, in that case… you need a huntsman."

…Perfect.

* * *

_Out in the Enchanted Forest, a young stag was searching for food beside tree trunks which had fallen long ago, moss clinging to their lifeless frames. He is about to start his meal when a rustling in the bushes started him, and he flees, jumping over the logs as he made his way towards safety._

_Only, he never makes it, an arrow shaft burying itself deep in his heart._

_Stepping out of the underbrush, Graham… no, the _Huntsman_, approaches his kill, kneeling down beside it, his quiver slung over his shoulder and bow held tight in his grasp._

_Looking down at the poor creature, he feels guilt and compassion towards it. And though it was necessary to kill the deer, it was a majestic beast, and deserved to be respected. "You have died so that I may live. Forgive me. Your sacrifice is honourable." He felt the familiar sensation of a tear rolling down his cheek as he showed the creature his sorrow. "I thank you."_

_Putting his fingers around the arrow's shaft, he was about to pull it out when he heard the growl of a wolf._

_Looking up, he saw it; its fur a light grey and its eyes two different colours – black and red – stood upon an incline not ten feet away. As he watched, it made its way towards him, its gaze falling briefly on the stag before it stared back at him, growling in what sounded like frustration._

"_Don't worry, boy," he said, "you won't go hungry tonight."_

_Taking a firm grasp of the wooden shaft, he pulled._

Graham woke breathless, taking a deep breath as he sat up, eyes wide as he tried to get his bearings.

It was the wolf again. He could see it clearly now, the canine's breath still fresh in his nose, as if it was more than just a dream, but a memory. But why would he 'remember' something like that? There were no wolves in Storybrooke, of that he was certain, and he had never left the town's limits… had he?

Suddenly, he felt a hand on his arm, and he felt the urge to pull away, but then he remembered where he was. "What is it?" Regina asked, her voice groggy from being awoken.

"I uh…" he started, fully intending to tell her everything that he had just seen, but the feeling of mistrust and disgust filled him, silencing his words. Why would he feel like this?

"Graham?"

Shaking his head, the Sheriff blinked away the images that were still playing in front of his eyes. "It was… It was just a bad dream," he said in between breaths, "I need some air."

Pushing the bed sheets from around him, he made his way over to the chair where he'd left his clothes, his socks silencing his steps as he crossed the carpet.

"Graham, don't be silly," the Mayor moaned, pushing herself onto her elbows, "Just come back to bed."

There it was again. That feeling of mistrust and loathing towards the woman, but he couldn't place where it was coming from. But where ever its source was, he _knew_ he had to listen to it. "I just need to walk this off, Regina. I don't think I'll be able to go to sleep again for a while."

Flopping back down into her pillow, Regina sighed. "Well, as long as if you don't come back at some unholy hour…"

Nodding, the Sheriff pulled his shoes and shirt on, picking up his waistcoat as he walked out of the door, leaving her to her slumber.

* * *

He'd left his car back outside of Granny's, and though he knew he wasn't thoroughly sober, he knew he should move it. And so, after pulling his waistcoat back on, he pulled his keys out of his pocket, pausing momentarily after hearing a glass bottle scrape against the ground.

Trying to find the right key, he dropped them onto the floor. Leaning down to pick them up, he saw a shadow fall across them.

It was the wolf.

Falling against the door to the car, Graham could feel his heart beating a hundred miles an hour inside his chest as it stared at him, whining slightly, before padding off down the street.

Gazing after it, the Sheriff tried to understand what was happening.

He could have dismissed it as a dream before, but now? Now it was impossible to ignore that his dreams – his… _visions_ – were far more than undigested food, metaphors his mind was trying to create, or whatever else it could have been.

Now he _knew_ they were memories. But that only left him even more confused.

* * *

When Emma made her way down the stairs the morning after her encounter with Graham, she found a bouquets of brightly coloured flowers left on the table. They practically _screamed_ apology.

If there was one she hated, it was definitely apology flowers.

"Really?" she sighed, picking them up and walking towards the bin.

Just as Mary Margaret was entering the room, carrying a pile of books. "Oh! Hey wait! What are you doing?" she asked as the plants made a dive for the trash can.

Turning back to face her, Emma made her way over to the coat hanger for her jacket. "If Graham thinks that flowers will work on me-"

"No those… were mine."

"Oh…" Way to go Emma! Great way to start the day! Sure! Why don't you trash _everyone's_ flowers! I'm sure they'll all _love_ you then! "From David?"

The teacher scoffed. "No, uh… Doctor Whale."

"Why would Doctor Whale…" Emma paused as things started to click together, receiving a 'you know' look from her house mate. "Are you serious?"

"I know! It's a disaster!" she replied quickly, showing her stress.

"No! That's amazing! You're getting over David!"

"First of all there's nothing to get over," Mary Margaret argued, though Emma didn't know who she was trying to kid, "and second of all… It's just a one night stand."

One night stand huh? "Not according to those flowers!"

"Yeah, maybe I shouldn't have called him."

Putting the orange juice on the table, the Deputy felt her eyes widen. "Oh my God! You called him? That is definitely not a one night stand."

"Well, okay I'm still learning, I've… never had one before. I felt guilty."

Now that makes _no_ sense. "Why? There's nothing wrong with what you did." She poured herself a glass of juice. "Trust me. One nighters is as far as I ever go."

"Well yeah, that's because you're…" Mary Margaret cut herself off, falling into silence.

Okay, _now_ her curiosity was peeked. "Because… I'm what?"

"Never mind."

Now that answer was _far_ too quick. "No! Tell me. What do I do?"

Sighing, the teacher turned to face her. "You're just protecting yourself. With that wall you put up."

"Just because I don't get emotional over men-" she started, walking back over to the fridge.

"You don't get emotional over men? Uh, the _floral_ abuse tells a different story!"

"What story is that?" she asked, putting the milk jug on the table beside the juice.

"The one that's obvious to everyone except _apparently_ you! That you have feelings for Graham!"

What? "Come on!"

Mary Margaret pointed at her. "There's the wall."

"It's not a wall!"

Pulling the flowers back out of the kitchen bin, the black haired woman raised an eyebrow at her. "Really?

Well… maybe she _does_ have a wall… "There's nothing wrong with being cautious."

Placing the bouquet in a class vase, Mary tried to smooth out a few crushed petals and leaves. "Oh true, true." Turning back to her friend, her eyes grew serious. "But Emma, that wall of yours. It _may_ keep out pain. But it also may keep out love."

Picking up the vase, 'Snow White' left her 'daughter' to wallow in her thoughts.

* * *

After hours of searching, there had been no further sign on that wolf, though he was certain that if he continued on the path he was on, he was sure to find it once again. That was the reason why he was running through the forest that surrounded his town, listening out for its howl, looking out for a sign – any sign – that it would appear again.

Suddenly, he spotted some movement in the undergrowth by some of the trees, the branches of a sapling swaying slightly as it was accompanied by a strange scraping sound.

Unfortunately though, the being that came through was more human in shape.

"Good morning Sheriff!" Mr Gold greeted him, his usual suit covered by a black apron, his hands covered in thick gardening gloves. "Sorry if I startled you."

Shaking his head, Graham tried to force the fingers of sleep from his mind. "Right. Sorry, I-I thought you were a wolf."

The pawn shop owner grinned. "Did I forget to shave?"

Glancing down at the shovel the other man was currently wielding, the Sheriff could feel himself getting very wary of him. "What are you doing out here so early?"

"A spot of gardening," came the reply, as though it made complete sense, "Yourself?"

"I was looking for a-"

"A wolf," Gold interrupted, "Yeah, I think I'm beginning to catch on. You know, to the best of my knowledge, Sheriff, there are no wolves in Storybrooke. Not the literal kind, anyway. Why are you looking?"

"You'll think I'm crazy."

The smaller man continued to grin. "Try me."

Graham shifted to his other foot for a moment, trying to keep his feet awake. "I saw one in my dreams. And then I saw one for real." As Mr Gol'd head dropped, he could tell he'd lost him. Who would believe him anyway? "Just, a few hours ago. Did you uh – did you see anything unusual out there?"

The Pawn Shop owner started to walk towards him, stopping a few feet away as he examined his shovel. "I'm afraid not. I do wish I could be more helpful." Pulling his walking stick out of the mud, he continued on his way around the confused officer. "You know Sheriff," he said, pausing at the fallen tree as he turned back, "they say that dreams – dreams are _memories_. Memories of another life."

_Memories…_ "And wh-what do you believe?"

"I'm never allowed anything," the man replied, his reply as ambiguous as he was, "Good luck Sheriff. I do hope you find what you're looking for."

Watching him leave, Graham couldn't help but feel he'd been granted permission for something, before returning to his hunt.

* * *

In another forest, in another time, a Huntsman and a wolf were walking towards an inn, its lights warm and inviting, and the sound of joyful voices floating out of its open door. Perhaps it was the sound of a reprieve from resting on frozen soil.

As they both walked in, into the crowd of merry making men, and took a seat at one of the tables, the Huntsman became painfully aware of the hushed whispers that had started to rise. Unfortunately though, some of them were not so quiet.

"They're letting animals in here now?" one of the men asked from behind him, but he refused to retaliate. He knew that was what they were all waiting for, "This isn't a slaughterhouse."

"Forget him," said another as he took a swig of the ale the serving girl had given him, "He might as well be one too. I heard he was raised by 'em."

"He does smell like 'em," said the first.

"Pathetic, I hear he cries over his kills."

"You believe that?"

Silence filled the room, and the only sound left was the scraping of a clay mug against the surface of the bar. Everyone else knew well enough to leave him alone, but these men were looking for a fight.

"Tell me, Huntsman," the first man enquired, his voice a lot closer to him now than it had been, "What kind of a man cries over an animal?"

He continued to refuse the ignoramus the pleasure of seeing his face. "An honourable one."

"What do you know about honour?"

He wanted to know about honour, did he? "I have it. They have it. You don't."

"Animals have it?" the man questioned, disbelief infecting his tone.

"They are pure of heart. Not selfish, and self-serving. Like… people."

At that moment, the wolf jumped to its feet and started to growl at the man, the deep, bloodthirsty roar of the canine unsettling the insolent oaf as he stared at its teeth.

"You tell him, to stop threatening me. 'Cuz you know what I do to pets, that threaten me?" he asked, the unsheathing of a weapon ringing in his ears as the glint of light reflecting off of metal entered his peripheral vision, "I hang 'em on my wall."

Drawing his own dagger, the Huntsman attacked the man before he could strike, sticking it deep into his neck; a wound he wouldn't be able to survive. "He's not a pet."

Turning back to the man's friend, he easily dodged the obvious attack and pushed him into a mirror, shattering the glass. Picking up one of the larger shards, he turned to face his last opponent – the one who had remained silent throughout the others' conversation – but he fled.

Placing the shard on his table, he left a few coins on the table and walked out the door, knowing he had long overstayed his welcome.

* * *

The Huntsman had been magnificent. Not a shred of mercy. "He's perfect," the Queen said, a smile on her lips, "Bring him to me."

The knights bowed and left in silence, leaving her to revel in her plan.

* * *

The branches and thickets were thick in places as Graham ran through them, and he thought he'd lose his sense of direction, but the familiar howl which sounded ever so often would pull him along, leading him towards what he hoped would be answers.

As he reached a fallen branch, he could see the light grey pelt of the beast moving through the sea of green, and he ran into the clearing beyond.

When he got there, he froze.

There it was. The wolf with an eye as black as midnight, and one as red as blood. It was waiting for him.

"What do you want?" he asked, as if it could answer him with words. Instead, it just turned away and started to make its way further into the forest. No! It couldn't leave! "Hey!" he cried, whistling, in a strange hope that it would recognise it.

To his surprise, it stopped, stared at him for a moment, and then, as though it had decided he was ready, trotted over to him, standing just in front of him and nosing his hand.

Graham frowned, but he complied with its wishes, running a hand through its fur and…

_He was in another forest, and he was with Mary Margaret. She was holding an apple out to hi, as though it were a peace offering._

_There was a dagger in his hand, and he was about to strike her. He could hear her gasp._

_The wolf howled up at the sky – at a symbol of stag's horns crossing each other within a circle of stone._

Blinking, the vision was gone, as was the wolf, leaving behind many questions. Looking around him, he tried to find it again, but it had vanished in to thin air.

* * *

As the children filed out of their class, the bell still ringing in the hallway, Sheriff Graham made his way into the colourfully, and educationally decorated room, looking over the heads of the students to find their teacher.

"Mary Margaret?" he called out, making her turn to look at him in confusion. No doubt because he never visited her during her teaching hours. In fact, he didn't really visit her at all. But she could hold some of the answers he was looking for, and he couldn't wait. "Can I talk to you?"

"Graham. What's the matter? Are you okay?" she asked.

"I think we, uh…" _please_ understand! "I think we know each other?"

It came out sounding more like a question that he'd hoped, but from the way her shoulders relaxed showed him that she had probably been waiting for some… bad news, so it didn't really matter what it sounded like.

"Of course we do," she replied, continuing her packing away.

"No no no. Not from here. Not from Storybrooke."

She frowned at him. "From where then?"

He swallowed, knowing he was probably going to sound crazy by saying this but… "Another life."

* * *

Queen Regina sat patiently in her chair, listening to the monotonous drumming of feet on the stone floors of the halls, coming steadily closer and closer, until at last she could see her black garbed knight and the promising Huntsman.

As he was stopped in front of her, she took her time to examine him.

He wore the same clothes she had seen him in the previous night, the furs and thick woollen cloth of his attire seemingly fitting for his role in the world, all the same brown colour, save for his scarf which was a muddy red, though it was barely distinguishable from the faded auburn of his shirt.

"Do you have a name?" she asked as the guard left, "Or shall I just call you 'the Huntsman'." The man remained silent, staring at her with those penetrating blue eyes. Pulling herself to her feet, she decided she needed to study him more closely. "You're a tortured one, aren't you, Huntsman. Is this because your parents abandoned you to the wolves?"

"Those weren't my parents," he replied, his accent shining through his words, "All they did was give birth to me. The wolves are my family."

She could almost taste the hatred… "Wolves indeed." She moved past him, walking towards the farther wall. "I always felt there were too kinds of people. Wolves and sheep. Those who kill and those who get killed. And you, Huntsman," she turned back to face him, "You are most certainly a wolf."

"Why am I here?"

Straight to the point! I like that in a man. "I'd like you to kill someone for me, can you do that?"

"I kill for me. Why would I do anything for you?"

"Because I have so much to offer," she replied, "A place at my court. You will become my official huntsman."

"I'm not interested in being a pet. This place is a cage."

"You'd be awash in luxury," she continued, walking back towards him, her heels clicking against the floor, "Wanting for nothing."

"You have an army at your disposal, what do you need of me?"

Ah. So he's more than just looks. "My prey is beloved by all the kingdom. I need someone who won't be blinded by that. Someone, without, compassion. Someone," Regina spread her hand out through the furs that covered his chest, just over his heart, "who will have no qualms, carving a heart out, and bringing it back for my collection."

Pulling away, the Huntsman continued to stare at her. "That's me."

"As I suspected." Slowly, carefully, she made her way to her fireplace, "Now tell me. What will it take, hm? What do you want? There must be something."

"Outlaw the hunting of wolves." Full of surprises… "They are to be left alone. They are to be protected."

The Queen smiled. "Simple enough."

Her Huntsman nodded. "So who do you want me to kill?"

* * *

The teacher had remained silent after his first question, so he thought he'd try an easier one. "Mary Margaret, how long have we known each other?"

"Um… I don't know. A while," she replied, a slight haze coming over her eyes as she tried to think back. What was that?

Taking a seat opposite her, Graham clasped his hands together. "Do you remember when we met?"

For a moment, it seemed as though she had an answer, but then her expression turned blank and her shoulders dropped in confusion. "Um… No."

So it wasn't just him… "Me neither. I can't remember when I met _you_ or when I met _anyone_. Isn't that odd?"

"I don't know. I-I suppose." Shaking her head, she dismissed it. He could see it in her eyes. "I think that's just life. Things get hazy."

Thinking back to the vision he had- the vision with the dagger in the forest – he pursed his lips. "Have I ever… hurt you?"

"Oh, Graham, no! Of course not! What is going on?"

"Do you believe in other lives?" he asked, trying to calm her down s little. She obviously didn't remember, so there was no point it worrying her.

She nodded. "Mm – Like heaven?"

"I mean like past lives."

She smirked, ducking her head to hide her smile. "You've been talking to Henry."

"Henry?" Why would he talk to him? Did he know something?

"Oh, he has this book of stories. He's been going on about how he thinks we're all characters from them; from another land. That we've forgotten who we really are." … how we've forgotten… "Which of course makes no sense."

Pulling himself back to attention, he shook his head. "Right… No, of course."

"Graham," Mary Margaret touched her wrist against his forehead, though he could barely feel it, too caught up in his thoughts. "Ah! You are burning up! Go home and get some rest. I think you'll feel _much_ better after you've had some sleep."

Home… "Right…" He blinked. "You're absolutely right. I'm sorry to disturb you." Standing up, he took her hands in one of his and smiled. "Thank you."

"Of course," she replied, returning his smile, but he could see the sadness and the worry in it.

She couldn't help. She didn't remember. But there was someone who could.

* * *

Wearing armour was not the most comfortable of all things to do. The fact that this was not only black, the heat of the sun almost boiling him, but too small as well, meant that travelling was hard, and it impeded on his flexibility and movement. Luckily, however, it was only a temporary measure.

The helmet, though, was pure torture.

He had been tasked to 'guide' the Princess through the Forest as she made her way to the Summer Palace. And so, this was how he found himself walking side by side with his target.

"You know, when I was a little girl the Summer Palace was my favourite place," Princess Snow was saying, "The mountains surrounding it felt like… a cradle. They always made me feel safe." Sparing her a quick glance, the Huntsman found her looking at him, and so returned his gaze to the dirt road. "I look forward to returning to it now." Pulling unconsciously at the neck of his shirt, Snow paused. "Stuffy in there?" Taking that as permission, he removed his helmet as she pulled something out of her bag. "Here."

Reaching towards him, the Huntsman found that she was offering him an apple, and a particularly juicy one at that. But the Queen had warned her of her tricks.

He shook his head. "No."

Putting the fruit back her satchel, the Princess studied him, taking a bite out of her own and resting a finger on her lips as she chewed. "You're not a knight, are you."

She was smarter than she looked. "What makes you say that?"

"Without fail, every one of my father's men has offered me condolences. Except you."

Well, might as well… "Please accept my condolences."

"And they all know how to wear armour." So she noticed that. "She picked you to take me. Why?"

"I think you know."

"You're going to kill me," she stated calmly, as though she'd known for some time. Perhaps she had and had been waiting for the opportune moment, but he'd never know. He had a job to do.

"You have good instincts."

"And you have too much armour."

Reaching down to his dagger, he let his concentration wane, which gave Snow enough time to pick up a thick branch and knock him to the ground. As she took off, running down the road, the Huntsman pulled himself back onto his feet, struggling against the weight on his shoulders.

He _hated_ armour.

* * *

Moving a pile of now completed paper work to Graham's desk, Emma tried not to think of her boss. He hadn't been in the office that day, and she didn't want to think too much about the reason why that would be.

As she dropped the files down, she scooped up the dart that was sat there, almost daring her to try, and turned to the notice board and the target hung there. Surely she could hit it.

Throwing it as fast as she could, Emma watched as it sped towards its mark… and bounced harmlessly onto the floor.

Sighing, she reached down to get it.

"Our tax dollars hard at work, I see," came a familiar, and all too unwelcome voice as its owner rounded the corner.

Pulling the rest of the darts out of the board, Emma tried not to look at the Mayor too much as she addressed her. "Graham isn't here. I assumed he took a sick day. With you."

"Oh! So you're aware of us," Regina replied, her words spoke of surprise, though her tone said otherwise, "Good. That's why I'm here. Because I'm also aware of _your_ relationship with him."

"I don't have a relationship with him."

"Oh? So nothing ever happened between the two of you. You forget Miss Swan, I have eyes everywhere."

"Nothing that meant anything."

"Well, of course not. Because you're incapable of feeling anything for anyone. There's a reason you're alone, isn't there."

And it isn't any of _your_ business. "All due respect, the way I live my life is my business."

The black haired woman made her way closer to her, taking her time to cross the ground that separated them. "It is until it infringes on my life. Stay away from Graham. You may think you're doing nothing, but you're putting thoughts in his head. Thoughts that are not in his best interest. You are leading on a path to self-destruction. Stay away."

As the Mayor left, Emma couldn't help but feel confused. 'A path to self-destruction'? What the hell did that mean?

* * *

Stepping up onto the porch of the Mills residence, Graham prayed to whatever god was out there that the mistress of the house wouldn't be home, ringing on the doorbell as he tried to suppress the memories of the previous night from his mind.

Standing back, he only had to wait a few moments before the door swung open, revealing the young boy he had come to see.

"Hey Sheriff," Henry said, a friendly smile on his face, "My mom's not here."

Of course that would have been what he would have thought. "Actually uh, I'm here to see you, Henry. I was hoping you could help me."

The young boy frowned. "Help you with what?"

"It's about your book." Henry's face lit up briefly. So maybe he did know… "Am I in it?"

* * *

Snow was sat by the side of a large pond, a small notebook resting in her lap as she tried to quickly scrawl her last thoughts down onto the paper. She knew it wouldn't be long until he would find him, and she could hear the steady tread of his feet coming closer, but she had to finish the letter.

Looking up, she saw him approach, the armour now long gone, just the leather undershirt remaining. He paused when he saw her, and so she returned to her note. She was almost done now.

"I hunt you yet you stop to compose a letter?" he said, "I will never understand your kind."

She shook her head, though her pencil continued to trace its way across the page. "I don't know these woods. You're obviously a skilled hunter, you'll find me. No matter what I do I know how this ends."

"Yes."

"There's one thing that I ask that you do after you kill me." Folding up the now completed message, Snow held it out towards him, much as she had done before with the apple. "Please deliver this to the Queen."

Her murderer glanced at it with a scowl. "Your tricks won't work on me."

"It's not a trick, please! Give it to her! Tell her I mean every word." She was all too aware of the tears in her voice, but she could barely care enough to hide them. She was going to die, all because of a childhood mistake. Who wouldn't be scared?

After a few moments, the man took it from her hand, and she smiled, knowing that the Queen would receive it. However, when she looked back up at him, she was surprised to find him reading it.

Did he wish to make her suffer? Why did he make her wait? Was it for some cynical purpose, or was it out of simple curiosity that her read her letter?

As she watched, a sight greeted her that she would have thought impossible from this man; a trail of tears flowing down his cheeks. A murderer who had a heart? Surely this was something unheard of.

However, her surprise didn't last long, as the sound of his dagger coming loose of its sheath caused her to stare up at the blade, hanging high above her. She knew it was the end.

Taking a few desperate breaths, Snow smiled up at him, and the knife plunged down…

…and cut the stem of a plant, chiselling small holes into it.

Holding it out to her, he put his dagger away. "Sound this when you need help."

"What?" she asked, though she allowed him to put it in her hand. Why would he spare her?

"It's a whistle, " the man explained, "It will bring you aid. You'll be led to safety, now go, run."

"I don't understand, you're not going to kill me?"

"Run!"

She didn't need any more convincing. Pulling herself to her feet, she fled, thanking the man in the recesses of her mind. The Huntsman.

* * *

The image of the deer was familiar, but, as always, the Sheriff couldn't place where he had seen it. Perhaps it had been in this previous life. It was making so much more sense now than it had before, and he was grateful for Henry's help.

As the boy turned the page, he turned to face him. "When did your flashes begin?"

"Right after I kissed Emma," he replied, only taking a moment to recall that first image of the wolf.

Henry looked disgusted. "You kissed my mom?" Graham gave him an apologetic look, and the boy shook his head. "What did you see?"

"A wolf. I saw that I had a knife in my hand. And I was with Mary Margaret."

"Were you about to _hurt_ her?" the boy asked, a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth.

"Yes!" he exclaimed, shocked at how much the Mayor's son knew, "How did you know that?"

"Because…" Henry began to flip through the pages. "Mary Margaret is Snow White. Which makes _you_…"Finally, he let the pages settle, revealing an image that looked all too familiar; the image of a man holding a dagger in the middle of the woods. Looking up at him, the boy smiled, "the Huntsman."

"So you really think that I… could be another person?" he asked, still not wanting to believe, and yet something inside him was screaming at him to trust his instincts, which were telling him that the school boy was right.

"Makes total sense. You were raised by wolves, that's why you keep seeing one. It's your friend! Your guide! It's trying to help you!" Henry explained.

It still didn't answer the question of _why_ though… "I'm remembering this because I kissed your mother? How is that possible?"

"Well… you two do have a special connection. She _owes_ you her life."

Her life? "How?"

"Snow White's her mother, and you spared her." Just like he'd seen in his vision. "If you hadn't, my mom wouldn't have been born."

He was right. It _did_ make 'total sense'. He could remember things so clearly from those moments with Mary Margaret in the woods, and there _was_ something about Emma that made her look like the teacher's sister. However, with the curse in place, Graham knew that it was more logical that she would be Snow's daughter.

But that was only up to the end of his role in the regular fairy tales. "What happened after I spared Snow White?"

Henry swallowed. "The Queen took you heart. She ripped it out. It's kind of her thing. She didn't want you to be able to feel ever again."

It suddenly felt as though all the air had been sucked out of his lungs. Ripped out his heart? She stole the feelings and emotions he had been unable to feel for so long from his very chest as an act of revenge? The very thought of it made his blood run cold.

"Let me see that book," he said, pulling it onto his lap. Turning over the next few pages, he stopped when he found an image of a woman stood in front of a stone building of some sort. In the centre of the roof was the symbol of the crossed stag's horns. He pointed to it. "What's that? I saw that too, the wolf was howling at it."

"That's her vault. It's where she put your heart."

At last, he could feel all the pieces of the puzzle fitting together in his mind, clicking into place, and he was beginning to see the full picture. It was all starting to make sense now; the visions, the dreams… everything.

"The wolf wants me to find it... Thank you Henry."

Moving the book from his lap, Graham reached for his jacket and made his way towards the stairs, thoughts whirling through his head. Where could her vault be?

* * *

Emma had been searching all over Storybrooke for its missing Sheriff, but he hadn't seemed to have been anywhere. However, when she had visited the school to talk to Mary Margaret, it turned out that her room-mate had known almost exactly where he was; even if it was in a somewhat subtle way.

Sitting in the driver's seat of her yellow Bug, hands clasped together and elbows resting on her knees as she faced the Mayor's front door, she waited for him to emerge.

She was worried about him, and from what she'd heard from everyone else she'd spoken to, so was the rest of the town. Graham hadn't been acting like himself, and he seemed to be intent on 'finding the truth', whatever that may be. He was unstable and venerable, and extremely perceptible to outlandish ideas.

Which was why Emma was sat outside of Regina and Henry Mills' home, having followed the trail of breadcrumbs to the gingerbread cottage.

Hearing the front door slam shut, the Deputy pulled herself to her feet.

"Hey!" she cried out, just as Graham was leaving the path, making him stop, his eyes surprised to see her, though the frown made him look… scared, "I hear you're having a rough day."

"Who says?" he asked, his tone guarded and quiet. What could have made him act like this?

She shrugged. "Pretty much everyone. I think maybe you need to go home and get some rest."

"I'm fine," he replied as he began to walk off again.

"No, Graham, you're not fine, you just went to see a _ten_ year old for help!"

"He's the only one making any sense!"

How could a ten year old and his book of stories make any sense at all? "What's going on? What's… _really_ going on."

"It's my heart, Emma. I need to find it."

Metaphors, huh? "Okay… So, how are you going to do that?"

"I just need to follow the wolf."

"What? What wolf?" Emma asked, trying to understand what he was talking about.

"From my dreams. He's going to help me find my heart," the Sheriff explained, as though it were the most logical thing in the world. As though it actually made _sense_.

"I'm sorry. I thought we were talking in a metaphor here. You really don't think that you have a heart?" The poor man! He must be so confused. Maybe it was the guilt with what happened the previous night that was making him act this way…

"It's the only thing that makes sense! It's the only thing that explains why I don't feel anything!" Oh God. He really did believe this. He believed every word that was coming out of his mouth.

"Listen to me Graham. You have a heart." Clenching his jaw together, he shook his head. He obviously needed more than words to convince him. "I can prove it." Stepping closer, Emma held out her hand, hesitating for a moment before she slipped it in between his waistcoat and his shirt just over his heart She could feel its steady drumming beneath her fingertips and she let her lips curve up slightly as she stared up into those deep blue eyes. "See? It's beating." He continued to shake his head. Pulling his own hand up, she placed it where her hand had once been, covering it with her own as his eyes became distant. "It's real. Feel that? That is your heart."

Still shaking his head, Graham pulled himself away. "No. It's the curse."

"You can't really believe that's true!" she exclaimed, staring up into his face.

A movement she saw out of the corner of her eye made her look away, but the sight that greeted her made her freeze. It wasn't possible!

"What?" he asked, but then he turned as well.

The wolf was staring at them, almost expectantly, its presence destroying the arguments she had so carefully given him.

Turning back to her, she could see the look of 'I told you so' in his features as he began to run after the now retreating form of the wild animal. Saying nothing, Emma followed him, soon coming to an unfamiliar and yet unmistakable sight; a graveyard.

She had to give it to the wolf, it was fast, but the Sheriff refused to let it out of his sight and only sped along the path it was leading. As they continued on, passing gravestone after gravestone, the wolf came to an eventual stop next to what appeared to a mausoleum, its red and black eyes gazing at them.

"Graham! Graham, be careful!" Emma warned, but he continued onward, holding out his arm towards her as though in comfort.

"He's my friend. He won't hurt us," the man explained, though the howl that the wolf sounded seemed to speak otherwise, though Graham seemed drawn to it somehow, walking steadily forwards as it waited.

Suddenly, the canine turned back around and trotted around the stone structure and over the rise of the hill, so neither of them could see it. By the time they'd made it to the top, it had obviously reached the trees, as there was no sign of it anywhere.

Well… that was a waste of time.

Turning back to take Graham back to the car, Emma found him staring up at the strange symbol which was sitting over the mausoleum doors. "What is it?"

For a moment, it seemed he was lost in his own world, but then he turned to look at her, be it briefly. "It's my heart. It's in there." He continued to stare at it for a while, and she him, worry filling her mind, when he suddenly pulled his flash light from his belt, turning it on. "I have to look in there!"

As he made his way towards the doors, she grabbed his arm, pulling him to a halt. "Oh no! Stop! Stop!"

"I have to get in there! Please!"

"Graham, do you really think that your heart is in there?" she asked, fully expecting him to at _least_ hesitate, but she was surprised by the immediate nod and… oh God, that look in his eyes! "Okay. Let's find out." Turning back to the mausoleum, she stepped up to the doorway and pulled on the handle, but it wouldn't budge. "Come on!" Turning to glance at the deluded man, she stepped back and raised her foot, bringing it crashing down against the wood.

The door swung open and hit the wall with a loud _thud_. They were in; even if it was breaking the law they were supposed to be instating.

* * *

The Huntsman was led down the once bright halls of the castle, now darkened by the shadows that seemed to fill every room. It was no longer a place of joy and peace, but one of anger and revenge. It made him feel shiver inside, but he was not going to show weakness in front of _her_ men.

This one was no different; this one leading him towards the room he had first met the Queen of this Realm in. They were all the same. All loyal and stupid and selfish.

Just before they reached the doors he had been sure they would pass through, the guard stopped him, releasing the grasp on his arm.

"Wait here," the soldier said, leaving quickly. The Huntsman did not watch him leave, not caring about his presence, and took his time to examine his changed surroundings for a moment before the tapping of high heeled shoes distracted him.

Turning to face the entrance to the enclave, he found the Queen had arrived, garbed in a long black robe with silver trimmings. "I see you're still in mourning."

"The time for mourning is over," she replied, pausing momentarily, "I simply found that black suites me." Walking towards him, the black Queen smirked, setting his heart racing. That smile set his teeth on edge, and the fact that it was caused by him turned his stomach. "Now, tell me. Is Snow dead?"

Holding out the satchel that hung by his side, he nodded. "The young girl's hear as you requested." As she reached out for it, he pulled it back, reaching for the note at his belt. "First, there is something I must do."

The confusion written on her face forced him to pull it from its place and hold it between them. She eyed it with contempt, obviously annoyed at the delay in her victory.

"What's this?" she asked, any hint of a smile now wiped from her face.

"The girl wanted you to have it."

She stared at him for a moment, as though trying to figure out if he were lying, before turning to walk behind him. "Read it to me."

Taking a deep breath, the Huntsman slowly unfolded the paper.

" "Dearest Stepmother"," he began, " "By the time you read this, I will be dead. I understand that you will never have love in your life because of me. So it's only fitting that I will be denied that same joy as well. For the sake of the kingdom, I hope my death satisfies your need for revenge, allowing you to rule my father's subject as they deserve, with compassion and a gentle hand.

" "I know what you think you're doing is vengeance, I prefer to think of it as sacrifice, for the good of all. With that in mind, I welcome the end. I want you to take my last message to heart.

" "I'm sorry, and I forgive you"."

For what felt like an eternity, she just stood there and stared at him in contempt, but she was stood striding across the floor, the note snatched from his fingers and thrown into the fire.

"Don't tell me you're becoming a sheep!" she exclaimed, the message having moved her to anger and making her raise her once carefully calm and dignified voice.

"She put others before herself and yet you hate her. What did she do to you?"

"I shared a secret with her," she replied, her tone becoming dangerously quiet as she stared into the flames, "And she couldn't keep it. And that betrayal cost me dearly." Turning back to him, she walked up to him, rage burning behind dark eyes. "Now. Show me her heart!"

Pulling the strap of his bag over his head, the Huntsman had barely taken it off when she seized it, moving towards the mysterious doors, forcing them open with a swing of her arms. Following her slowly, he watched as she pulled the heart out from the bag, dropping the now useless piece of leather on the floor.

Who knew that a dead, unbeating heart could cause his own to race.

He watched in horrified fascination as she placed the heart into a small box with an almost delicate hand, and he felt himself relax, sighing a silent sigh of relief. She had fallen for it. Princess Snow was safe. And her Stepmother didn't know any different.

However, his relief was short lived.

In those moments he had been thinking of how lucky he was that the Queen didn't seem to know the difference between a deer's heart and a human's, she had approached the wall and found its magic to be unsatisfied by her offer.

"It should open," she whispered to herself, but the Huntsman heard. When she turned, the useless muscle clutched in her hand, he knew his luck had run out. "This isn't her heart!" she exclaimed, holding it out to him as she marched through the doors towards him, her fury completely unmasked and burning now, "This isn't a human heart! What did you do?"

Remaining silent, he stared at her. He wasn't going to tell her _anything_.

* * *

The inside of the mausoleum was dusty and dark, but nothing seemed to be out of the ordinary. There were shelves indented into the walls, and a large coffin in the centre of the floor, the name plate holding the name of its occupant, though he didn't really care at that moment.

It just didn't make any sense!

"It's got to be in here! Somewhere…" Graham said, stepping past his Deputy, searching the shelves for any sign of his heart. If only he knew what he was looking for! Pulling one of the metal bars hat was sticking out from the ground, he hoped to hear something move. "There's got to be a hidden door." He went down on his knees and checked the side of the coffin. "A lever." Lowering his flash light, he looked at the floor. "Some…thing…"

What was that? Moving his fingers across the stone, he wiped away the dust and grime, and he felt himself smile,

"Graham," came Emma's voice, pulling him from his thoughts, "Hey, Graham-"

"Did you close the door?" he asked, switching off his torch and putting it back on his belt.

"What?"

"Close the door," he repeated, moving around the coffin.

Emma frowned at him. "Graham, look. There's nothing in here."

Putting both of his hands against the edge of the coffin, he braced himself. "Yes there is."

Pushing with all his might, the Sheriff grunted against the weight of the stone as it slowly began to slide across the floor. Scrape marks and grooves as deep as the ones he'd found could only really mean one thing.

"Oh my God," he heard Emma murmur, but his eyes were fixed on what he'd just uncovered; a stairway leading into the unknown. Pulling out his flashlight again, he pointed the beam down the stairwell and begun his descent.

However, before he could get any further than the first two steps, there came a howl from outside, along with the unmistakable scream of a woman; Regina. He could recognise that voice anywhere. He could hear her trying to fight it off, and from the way that Emma was looking through the gap she'd left in the door, she was obviously worried it would harm her. But he knew the wolf. It would only keep the Mayor away as long as it could without using any real force, so it was only a matter of time before _she_ would discover them.

Pushing the door closed, Graham grabbed hold of Emma's arm and pulled her down the stairs after him, making sure she didn't trip over as they made their descent.

At the bottom of the staircase was an archway, through which lay a room which was lit by the eerie light of the moon, the pale rays almost filling the room from the many spotlights from above. To the left lay another room, various boxes and jars stored away in its walls and the floor was covered in an intricately detailed mosaic. But this wasn't what had caught his attention; it was the opposite wall.

Instead of solid stone, the wall seemed to be made up of row upon row of perfectly square golden tiles, each one identical to the next. And from behind each of them, the sound of a beating heart emerged, filling the space with a dull thrumming.

Stepping past the drapes that were hanging in the way, Graham reached out his hand to them, trying to see if there were any distinguishing marks to help them find his heart, but they were plain and devoid of any kind of way to help them.

Of all the hearts that were being held captive, which one was his?

Suddenly, he became aware of the lack of Emma's presence, and turned to find her holding a hand to her mouth, her complexion pale and sickly, and she seemed to be holding her stomach as she stared, wide eyed, at the wall. He could see the fear in her eyes.

"Emma!" he cried, taking her face in his hands, "Emma, look at me!"

She stared blankly at him, as though she wasn't there any more. "I can hear them," she said numbly, "Oh God, I can hear them beating!"

"Emma, I need you to focus," Graham said, "Can you do that for me?"

For a moment she didn't seem to hear him, but then she blinked, and he could see her come back to him. Eventually, she nodded her head and gave him a small smile. Taking a deep breath, she turned back to the wall.

"So uh…" she began, her voice a little broken from the fear he couldn't blame her for feeling, "what now?"

Turning to face the… drawers, he supposed he could call them, Graham swallowed. "We need to find my heart, and then leave as soon as we can. We don't want Regina to know we found this place. Not yet anyway."

"But… what about the others?" Emma asked.

It was a fair question, and it made him feel bad to leave them, but… "We don't know whose hearts they are, and I don't think we'd be able to take more than one without attracting attention too quickly."

Nodding, the blonde haired woman took a step forwards, a shiver running through her body. "So… which one is it?"

That… was something he still hadn't figured out yet. Maybe if he touched the right drawer, it would be like when he touched the wolf. Maybe he'd remember.

Moving his fingers across the cold surfaces of the tiles, he started from about chest height and made his way up, his instincts telling him it was in that area. As he was making his third sweep, he suddenly felt… whole.

It was a difficult feeling to describe. It was like he had suddenly been filled with warmth, and he could feel hope rising inside him. Trying to pry his fingers around the edge to pull it out, but the drawer wouldn't budge.

"Graham?"

He gritted his teeth, trying to pull it out one last time before ceasing his efforts. "I can't open it!" he exclaimed, taking his frustration out on the red brick wall to the side, his boot causing a little of the concrete to fall away.

This couldn't be it! He couldn't have come so far only to fail at the last hurdle! Screwing his eyes shut, he barely held back the growl he could feel rising in his throat. Was it all for nothing?

Had the Sheriff been paying attention to his surroundings, he probably would have noticed that Emma had moved towards the golden wall. He would probably have heard the ring of unknown locks being removed as well. But as it was, all he heard was the soft grating sound of metal on metal, and a short, shocked gasp of the woman stood behind him.

When he turned back, his eyes widened when he found the drawer was open, a box sat snugly in the middle.

Emma looked just as shocked as he, even though her hand was still holding onto the front. "All I did was touch it…"

After staring at her for a moment, Graham strode over to the drawer and pulled the box out, careful not to let it touch the sides.

Just as he was about to open the lid, to see the item that had been stolen from him all those years ago, the howl of the wolf echoed through the room, chilling him to the bones. She was coming.

* * *

Running up the stairs as fast as she could, Emma tried not to think about what had just happened down there. She could still hear the beating of those hearts, the distinctive drumming that had filled her ears as soon as she had entered that place, but there was no steady beat coming from the box Graham was holding protectively against his chest.

Maybe it wasn't hearts at all… maybe it was some sort of sound system that just made it _sound_ like there were… hundreds of hearts in the wall. Yeah. That would explain it. There wasn't any such thing as _magic_, and fairy tales weren't real. It was all just tricks and stories.

Pushing the grave back into place and covering the secret rooms below seemed fitting, considering that was exactly what she was doing with what had happened down there.

In her mind, none of it had ever happened. Not the rooms or the heartbeats or the magic drawers; it was all just the result of a near sleepless night, and that was it. Just her mind playing tricks on her.

Escaping the mausoleum, the two of them closed the door behind them before Graham dashed off somewhere to hide that box of his, no doubt afraid that Regina would turn to steal the 'heart' that was inside it away. She didn't understand how he could believe that his heart, the muscle that kept every animal alive, was in that container.

To her great surprise, he returned less than a minute later, followed closely by Regina from the opposite direction.

"What are you doing here?" the Mayor asked, slightly out of breath and more than a little dishevelled looking, wielding a bouquet of white petaled flowers.

"Uh…" Graham started, "We-we heard reports of a wolf sighting in this area. Thought we'd better check it out. Make sure it was safe."

The black haired woman squinted her eyes at him before relaxing slightly. "Well, you just missed it. The beast ran me round the graveyard before it ran off into the woods as I was trying to visit my father's grave." Tilting her head to the side, she looked into the Sheriff's face. "You don't look well dear." Taking his hand in hers Regina began to drag him away from the mausoleum. "Let's take you home."

Emma was about to step forwards when Graham pulled back, detaching himself from the woman he would have once called his lover. "I don't want to go home." She stared at him. "Not with you."

The tension in the air was suddenly made tangible, and the Deputy could barely stand the silence.

"Oh?" Regina finally said, turning back towards them, "But you'll go with her."

"Hey. This is between you two. Leave me out of it."

The glance that woman gave her seemed like every other look she'd sent her way, only this time her eyes were seething masses of untapped rage. She was sure you could go mad looking into eyes like those for too long.

"She's right," Graham stated, drawing the Mayor's attention back to him and away from her, "It's between us. And things have to change."

She started to pace forwards. "And I wonder why that is all of a sudden."

"It has nothing to do with her! Now I've realised that… I don't _feel_ anything, Regina. And I know now it's not me. It's you."

Was he really saying what she thought he was saying? Emma could barely even dream of hoping she was right in her assumptions.

"So you're leaving me for her?"

Graham shook his head. "I'm leaving you for me."

Emma could swear her heart could have burst at that moment, her respect and pride for this man suddenly overwhelming her and kicking the floor from under her feet. He was rejecting her! The one woman that no one in the entire town said no to, and he was pushing her away!

Walking closer to him, Regina scanned the ground before looking up at his face, her voice much more quieter now than it had been before. "Graham, you're not thinking straight."

"Actually for the first time I am. I'd rather have nothing than settle for less. _Nothing_ is better than what we have." Emma watched as Graham forced Regina into silence. She wouldn't trade anything in the world for this. "I need to _feel_ something Regina and, the only way to do that is to give myself a chance."

She felt a smile begin to form on her lips as he stood up for himself.

"Graham…" Regina started, trying to reach for him, but he just took a step back.

"I'm sorry," he said calmly, "It's over."

Emma looked at him with… affection, she supposed it was called. It had been so long since she had let herself _feel_ that she couldn't rightly remember how she was supposed to feel towards a man she was – and she couldn't believe she was admitting this to herself – _attracted_ to.

When he turned to look at he, she felt her smile grow.

"I don't know what I ever did to you, Miss Swan, to deserve this," Regina said, pulling her attention, yet again, away from Graham, though the was the Mayor's voice was beginning to sound like she was going to cry was a nice touch, "To have you keep coming after everything I hold dear-!"

The Sheriff stepped forwards, trying to stop Regina from accusing her. "I told you, it's not her."

"None of this happened until she got here!"

Oh, so now it was her fault? "I'm sorry, you just have to think the problem isn't with _me_, but with _you_."

"Excuse me?"

You heard me. "Henry came and found _me_." She stepped around the man, moving to get closer to her. "Graham, kissed _me_. _Both_ were miserable. Maybe _Madame Mayor_, you need to take a good hard look in the mirror and ask yourself why that is. Why is everyone running away from you?"

For a moment, she seemed to just take it, but then Emma felt her fist collide with the side of her head and she was falling into Graham, which only made him tumble to the floor.

"Regina!" he shouted, but Emma wasn't even listening. She was already back on her feet, swinging her own right hook at the Mayor, sending the flowers flying. Grabbing hold of her, the Deputy pushed her towards the mausoleum. "Stop!" Graham cried again, wrapping his arms around her and pulling her away. "Stop stop!"

Emma screamed in frustration, letting out as much of her anger as she could before stalking back to the bitch as she picked up her flowers.

As she came closer, Regina turned to face her, her mouth bloody and a her lip cracked. "Not worth it."

Passing her by, Emma walked off towards her car which she'd left parked outside of her house. It wasn't much later that Graham turned up, his precious box clutched in his hands. Before getting into their cars, they shared a look, and she knew that everything was going to change.

* * *

After getting back to the station, Graham had placed the box on his desk and the two of them had opened it together. It was there – his heart – sitting in the middle of the metal container, but, much to his disappointment, Emma seemed to be unable to see it.

This, along with the fact that he didn't know how to return it to his body, made the whole thing fairly depressing, and so he decided not to tell her.

Picking up the ice pack from the first aid kit, he made his way over to where Emma had settled herself after the 'anti-climax'. "I'm sorry," he said, moving her hair out of the way so he could put the pack on the lump that was beginning to form before she took hold of it, "I don't know what came over me. How I lost my mind."

Finding the antiseptic, he started to pour some onto a tissue.

"It's okay," she replied You were tiered, and feverish… and heartbroken."

Finishing with the antiseptic, Graham looked at her over his shoulder. "I don't know why I let myself get caught up with her."

"Because it was easy, and safe," Emma explained with a voice of experience, lowering the ice pack. "Not trying anything is an attractive option but what you feel sucks." Smiling at her, he took the pack away and examined the cut that… that _woman_ had created, and touched the soaked tissue to it, causing Emma to flinch. "Felt that."

Smiling, he continued his work, trying to repress the lingering urge to kiss her again.

Unlocking the doors to her father's grave, Regina stepped into the mausoleum, closing them behind her.

Looking at the name plate on the coffin – Henry Mills, Beloved Father – she couldn't help but think of her precious daddy, even if it was only for a brief moment. Placing the flowers on top of his grave, she rested her hand against his name in reverence, but only for a moment.

Resting her hands against the sides of his 'resting place', she pushed, opening the entrance to her sanctuary; the one place that she kept the last of her magic.

* * *

Queen Regina circled the Huntsman, the heart still clutched between her fingers. "Did you think you can fool me with the heart of a stag?" she demanded, slamming it down on the pedestal that had, until recently, held the casket she had reserved for the heart of the Princess. As she stepped towards him, he began his retreat, but with a wave of her hand the doors were shut. He'd forgotten about her magic. "You're not going anywhere."

"She doesn't deserve to die," he proclaimed, shaking his head. She was such a sweet girl, how could she deserve such a death?

"That's not up to you. I wanted a heart," she said, looking at his chest, "And a heart I shall have."

Suddenly, he could _feel_ her hand inside him, tearing through his insides, slicing past his skin, until finally, a pressure around his heart, until, with the most excruciating tugging sensation he had ever felt, she pulled her hand, and his heart, out, the red glowing mass of meat fitting almost perfectly in the palm of her hand.

Left panting against the shut doors, the Huntsman felt something break inside of him. "What-what are you going to do to me?"

Before he could even think, her lips were on his, stealing his kiss as his eyes widened in horror as her fingers held tight onto his face, his strength too far gone for him to fight it. "You're now mine. My _pet_." Moving away, she held the heart in front of one of the square spaces and it opened as a drawer. "And this is your cage. From this moment forward, you will do everything that I say. And if you _ever_ disobey me, if you _ever_ try to run away, all I have to do is _squeeze_."

Once again, the feeling of pressure of his heart overwhelmed him, only this time, it was ten times worse. It was like his chest was being filled with red hot pokers, and he could feel his stomach wanting to gag, but his throat refusing to budge. His lugs burned as he tried to grasp for air, and it felt as though he were being sat on by an ogur. When at last the pain stopped, the Queen sneered. "Guards! Your life is now in my hands. Forever!" He tried to react, but all he could do was stare as the guards held him, his legs unable to take his weight. "Take him to my bedchamber."

As he was pulled away, the last thing he saw was the drawer closing, locking away what would keep him as her slave for all of eternity.

Beneath the crypt, Regina, the Mayor of Storybrooke, made her way towards her safe boxes. Her Huntsman had disobeyed her for the last time. Holding out her hand, she reached for his drawer.

* * *

Finishing up with the antiseptic, Graham smiled at his patient. "All better?"

"Yeah," she replied, in a voice barely louder than a whisper, and he found himself getting lost in her deep chocolate coloured eyes.

Turning away before he could act on the emotions that were running through him, he put the tissue back on his desk, closing the lid to the first aid and sighing, turning back to face her. When he found her staring up at him, he couldn't help but smile. "What?"

Slowly, tentatively, Emma stood up from her desk, walking closer and closer, until he could smell the cinnamon from her hot coco on her breath. And then, just as slowly, their lips met for the second time.

It wasn't anything like the first time he'd forced himself on her, this was intimate and _warm_. It felt right, and…

_He saw a deer he had shot. The arrow flying through the air and the body of his kill. He saw the black and red eyed wolf, the men he had killed at the inn, Queen Regina in her red robes, Snow White offering him an apple, and then a note. He saw his dagger in his hand and Snow's shocked expression as he made her a whistle._

_He saw the deer he stole the heart from and the sign that sat over the Queen's vault. The box she had placed his heart in as she stood over him, holding it between her fingers._

_He saw… everything._

Gasping at the overload of information, he reversed into his desk, his knees buckling, forcing him to sit down. He saw it all. He was free.

"Graham? Are you okay?" Emma asked, her voice concerned.

A feeling of joy and happiness took over his senses as he looked up at her. "I remember!"

"Graham?"

"I remember!" he repeated, pulling himself to his feet.

"You remember what?" she asked, but he couldn't answer her, too overcome by his emotions. Taking her face in his hands, he felt a tear roll down his cheek as she smiled.

"Thank you."

Leaning in, he let his nose touch hers, his eyes fluttering closed, until at last, their lips were as one.

* * *

Somewhere out in the Storybrooke cemetery, Regina Mills stood staring at an empty drawer, cursing the day that Emma Swan entered her town.

* * *

**AN - And there you have it folks! A revised version of 'The Heart is a Lonely Hunter'!**

**I hope you guys enjoyed it! I put blood sweat and tears into this! I mean come on! Who would WANT to watch him die over and _over_ again? I did that for you so I could get this the way it is! Well, I suppose there's a little consolation knowing they might bring him back... (though I'm not sure about that. I did read that on wiki after all)**

**I would just like to point out that, if you haven't already noticed, I am English, but I have purposely called Hot Chocolate 'Coco' and Mum 'Mom' in order to keep it as American as possible, though I don't like some spellings (which is why I kept colour as it is and not 'color').**

**For those who are my active readers, I'm sorry to keep you waiting on my other stories, but this caught my aye and... well... I couldn't defend myself against the plot bunnies of doom for this one. THEY WERE TOO CUTE!**

**The song I've been listening to while writing this is 'Flawed Design' by Stabilo. I have also started to learn how to play it on my acoustic...**

**Now, if you don't mind, I think I'm going to research how to make top hats... Jefferson style!**


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